Page 75 of Plum

After what feels like forever, the door flies open, and there’s Harper Ruth, perfect in a red sheath, diamond earrings, and a diamond choker, her eyes sparkling. She’s tipsy.

“Come on,” she stage whispers, dragging me in by the elbow. We’re in a sub-basement of some kind, but she seems to know her way. She leads me through narrow linoleum corridors to some stairs. It smells like equal parts bleach and mold.

“These open by the bathrooms. Just follow people back to the main hall. The Wades are all up front, at the table on the dais. You can’t miss them.”

“Aren’t you coming?” My stomach’s flipping, and way too late, I wonder if you can get arrested for crashing a charity gala.

“I’ll wait here a few minutes. Plausible deniability.” She winks at me, real big, and then shoves my ass up the last step. “Go on! Get your man.”

I’m opening my mouth to answer her, but Harper’s push has made me unsteady, so I can’t help but step forward through the door. I instantly realize two very fucked-up things.

From the women in line at the bathroom, I figure out there’s a dress code. Red and white with piles and piles of diamonds. I’m in purple. Not maroon or anything close to red. The color purple you find on a Hawaiian shirt. No jewelry.

I turn to duck back down the stairs, and that’s when I realize the door locked automatically. That, or Harper has wedged it shut somehow. I face the guests by the bathroom and knock furiously behind my back. Nothing.

The other women are very politely ignoring me while whispering to each other—about me.

I need to get out of here before one of them calls security. There’s definitely inside security at an event like this. I hustle down a thickly carpeted hall, so different than below stairs, and then I skid to a halt as the hall opens into a grand ballroom. I gasp.

It’s…it’s sopretty.

The ceilings are high, maybe three stories, and giant crystal chandeliers throw off sparkles. Nets filled with perfectly round red and white balloons are hanging in the corners of the room. There’s a grand, curving staircase leading up to the second level, and on the mezzanine, there’s what looks like a swing band. A man in a tuxedo with long tails swings a pointy stick while horns echo through the hall.

There are naked statues and huge paintings almost as high as the walls, and on every surface, there are massive bouquets of red roses and white calla lilies in glass vases as big as trash cans.

It’s like the movies.

Everyone is beautiful, laughing, and dancing. Everyone fits in their red, white, and black.

I don’t match.

My skin gets clammy, and I try real hard to ignore the stares and look for the exit. I’d like to say I’m the kind of woman who doesn’t give a shit that she stands out like a sore thumb, but the half an hour in the freezing cold went a long way to extinguishing my righteous anger. Maybe retreat’s the better part of valor, as Heavy says.

It’s really hard to tell where I am with all the people. I suck in a breath and aim for the opposite side of the hall. Bathrooms are usually in the back, so the front doors should be straight ahead. I take a step, and my ankle wobbles. Oh, hell, no. I firm my stance. I ain’t going out like that.

I walk, real calm and careful, picking through the clumps of people, skirting the dance floor. I make it almost to the other side when I realize that I’m not heading toward the doors. I’m heading to the dais. I know this ‘cause the crowd parts spontaneously, and there, above me, Adam Wade is staring down from a long table, surrounded by perfect people, a gob smacked expression on his impossibly perfect face.

I stop in my tracks and wrap my arms around my middle. I can’t seem to meet his eyes straight on.

He stands, his chair screeching back. His family have noticed me now. The blond man with the flushed face next to him is his stepbrother Eric. There’s an older woman with perfectly styled black hair, the same color as Adam’s. She’s staring down her nose like I’m a walking piece of shit, and she just caught a whiff.

This is the worst idea I’ve ever had in my entire life.

A handsome man with grey hair and Adam’s confident bearing stands, too, and puts a hand on Adam’s forearm. He whispers something in his ear. Adam shakes his head.

I need to get out of here, but I can’t seem to move. Adam’s blue eyes are drilling into me. Broken. Hurt.

What business does he have to be hurt?

I lift my chin and narrow my eyes. That seems to break the spell. Adam frees himself from the older man and comes down to me, his long legs covering the distance in no time. There are more eyes on us now. Everyone’s eyes. Sweat breaks out behind my knees.

“Jo-Beth. What are you doing here?” He grabs me by the upper arm. Like how a bouncer does. I jerk my arm away.

He glances around, his jaw tightening. He’s embarrassed. He’s embarrassed of me.

“You owe me.” It flies out of my mouth, too loud, the idea half-formed. It must have been the wrong thing to say. His face goes stone cold.

Adam grabs my arm again, pulling me toward the dais steps. “What are you doing, Jo-Beth?” he hisses under his breath. “You’re making a scene.”

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